


Falling In Love (By Stumbling And Landing On Your Face)

by Dastri413



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship/Love, I'm Bad At Tagging, M/M, Romantic Comedy, Sad, Swearing, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-15
Updated: 2016-05-11
Packaged: 2018-03-30 16:40:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 6,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3943975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dastri413/pseuds/Dastri413
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is Dave Strider, and falling in love sounds like a bad idea.</p><p>From what you've heard, it never seems to end well. Everything from the sweet little gestures to the grand displays of affection, it's all just seemed so wrong to you. Sure, maybe for some people it works, but in the majority of cases, it's clearly doomed to failure from the start. It's just going to end in heartbreak, like travelling along an especially obnoxious winding road, and off of a particularly clichéd cliff at the end. There's a reason most people don't have just one partner in their whole lives; the concept of falling hopelessly in love just doesn't work.</p><p>It couldn't happen to someone such as yourself, right? You pray to God that it couldn't.</p><p>[This story, on its own, at least, will remain painfully unfinished.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Two-Player Game

**Author's Note:**

> This is an attempt at fanfiction. Let's see how it goes.

Your name is Dave Strider, and falling in love sounds like a bad idea.

From what you've heard, it never seems to end well. Everything from the sweet little gestures to the grand displays of affection, it's all just seemed so wrong to you. Sure, maybe for some people it works, but in the majority of cases, it's clearly doomed to failure from the start. It's just going to end in heartbreak, like travelling along an especially obnoxious winding road, and off of a particularly clichéd cliff at the end. There's a reason most people don't have just one partner in their whole lives; the concept of falling hopelessly in love just doesn't work.

It couldn't happen to someone such as yourself, right? You pray to God that it couldn't.

Your life so far hasn't been exactly simple, you're not afraid to admit it, but at least you can understand all the intertwining emotions involved. Frustration, fear, anger? Child's play. What's more, you've successfully navigated the social minefield of puberty, and actually made some friends. One of them is sitting next to you right now, as a matter of fact, gripping an Xbox controller firmly in his hands, looking through his glasses at the television screen with what could only be described as a "determined" expression fixed on his face. His spiked-up, jet black hair is giving the room an aura of untidiness simply by proxy, but to be honest, it's probably not just his hair. The room is clearly genuinely untidy. It's not like it matters to you too much - you have more important things to do than clean your room. Such as, you know, winning this damn game you're playing. You turn your attention back towards the screen.

Two minutes later, when much to your displeasure, you are informed that Player Two has won once again, you aim some of your most spitefully chosen words in no particular direction, making most of your usual excuses: the controller was less responsive, the game was lagging, and finally, the classic "I let you win" reasoning. It's a skateboarding game, so it's basically your domain, the game shouldn't be able to let you lose, and quite frankly, you say, you're astonished that the possibility you could lose was even coded into the game. John Egbert turns to you, with an almost infuriatingly cheerful smile on his face, telling you that "you might want to turn off the game, I'm getting kind of bored. Bored? Board?", and you have to stifle the impulse to hold your head in your hands and let out one of the deepest sighs you've ever sighed. Who are you kidding? You couldn't stay mad at that, so you just let it slide. "I'm never going to forgive you for that pun," you reply, even though you already have, showing no sign of insincerity, but he seems to know either way.

A few more well spent hours of doing nothing productive later, and it's time for him to go. Of course, you wish he wouldn't, because you're having the time of your life with him around, but he hadn't exactly prepared for him to come around - he tends to just turn up and leave whenever he feels like it. You can always just talk with him later, of course, all thanks to the mystical magic and wonder of the Internet, and as you tell him, you're usually available. As he heads on out, you keep watching until he disappears completely from view, until he's gone, and you can't wait for whenever it may be that he turns up at your door again. Because he's your best friend, and that's what best friends do, right?

Something doesn't feel quite right. You try and identify what it is you're feeling. Longing? Obsession? You pray it isn't what you think it is. You silently turn away from the door and return to your room, thinking solemnly to yourself.

_God fucking dammit._

 


	2. Irony

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never realised how much pressure authors are constantly under to write consistently well. Jesus.

You're feeling more reflective than a shitty ninja sword.

You stare up at your ceiling for what feels like hours. It was never meant to go this way, you're sure of it. Wasn't the idea to settle down with that one person for your life? Love at first sight, and all that shit? How often did romances at such a young age work out? Juliet was thirteen years old; look how she and Romeo ended up. It's not fair. You're halfway to a broken heart already, and it's not even your fault. How likely is it that John has the same feelings towards you that you have for him? Nothing about life seems to make sense. But, you suppose, that's what you get when you spend your time dwelling on the issue rather than getting on with your life.

Over the next few days, however, you find the matter to be inescapable. Even though you haven't been talking to him, and even though you've kept mostly to your room, the feeling is almost overwhelming, constantly on your mind, no matter how hard you try and avoid it. Why couldn't your Romeo just have turned up a little bit later, when you've both matured a bit? Why couldn't he just understand the problem, without you having to confront him about it? Why, oh why, couldn't he be just a little less _completely adorable?_

No, this won't do. You're not accepting it. You're not going to let yourself get caught up in this mess any more than you already are. You've had to hide your true feelings for the majority of the sixteen years of your life, and you're sure as fuck not going to stop now. Keep it together, "cool kid". You're not going to let yourself be reduced to a literary cliché. Whatever love is, this infatuation you're feeling, it's just another emotion to deal with, that you can keep restrained within yourself. In theory, simple, as long as you can just continue being yourself, not being driven crazy by needing some kid in your life. It's all just so frustrating, and you're not sure if you'll be able to take the pressure of it all, and you feel like you want to scream at the top of your lungs, so you go ahead and just do it to relieve your stress, after which you turn around and-- oh dear God, he's standing in the doorway.

"Hey Dave! I thought I'd drop by, you haven't been talking to me much recently... what's with the screaming?" He looks inquiringly at you, as if to ask "why the hell would any sane person be making so much noise", and a fraction of a second later, you've thought of an answer.

"I wasn't screaming, I was bleating like a goat for ironic purposes," you lie. On any other day, maybe you would have managed to pull that one off, but his furrowed brows and the way he looks at you doubtfully both inform you that you were a fraction of a second too slow. Still, any excuse to derail this conversation from anything important. "You know me. Bleating is something very important to me. To disrespect bleating would be to disrespect me and my family. Goats, of course, the greatest of all of Earth's creatures. And bleating like a goat? Oh my god." Yeah, he's buying this. About as much as he bought it when you told him that your name was Ben Stiller last week.

"Bleating isn't that great," he responds, his eyes scanning the room, "not compared with moos and quacks." You're seriously having a conversation with John about different animal sounds. Embarrassing? Yes, but it's worth it, just because it's so much better than the alternative. Indeed, when, an hour later, John's walking out of the door once more, you're feeling quite proud of yourself for managing to avoid the topic entirely. That could have been awkward, oh man. _Dave Strider, you're a fuckin' genius,_ you think to yourself, taking a few deep breaths to calm yourself down after that close call.

Meanwhile, somewhere in the distance, John Egbert curses his own stupidity and faint-heartedness.


	3. The Plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At this point I should probably thank everyone who's been taking the time to read this and/or leave kudos on it, so yeah, thanks for that, guys! :D
> 
> In this chapter, I learn how time-consuming formatting text is.

Your continue to go about your life as normal, undisturbed by your own feelings, for just over a week. It's nice to be able to get some peace of mind, away from the struggles of real life for a change. Fuck responsibility; who needs responsibility when you have some sweet beats playing at an unreasonably loud volume through your headphones? Not you, that's for damn sure.

John came over to your house again a couple of days ago, but it wasn't really a huge success. The atmosphere was too tense for your liking to be honest - perhaps next time he turns up, you think, you should be prepared with a topic of conversation. Once again, the topic you least want to hear about springs to mind - no, you resolutely decide, it isn't a good idea to talk about that, not in the slightest, it'd just cause too much frustration and awkwardness, and it'd be impossible to talk to him after that. But still, it's just a touch worrying, to not have friends you can confide in. Bearing this in mind, you open up Pesterchum, look through the list of names, and select what seems like your best option for help in this situation.

\-- turntechGodhead  [TG] began pestering tentacleTherapist  [TT] at 11:43 --

TG: so hey  
TG: ive been seeing dicks in my dreams  
TG: give me the low down

You smirk just a little at your own remark. Perhaps you were a touch too blunt on the matter? It's too late now; you've managed to dive headfirst into your own personal fiery hell, and now you have to wait to see if you survive. It's only a matter of time before you get confirmation of the results.

TT: If I had to hazard a guess, it would seem that you're currently fuck deep in the deepest throes of passion for our mutual friend, John.  
TT: Is this a correct assumption?  
TG: how perceptive of you  
TG: my assumption was always that you just had book smarts and zero common sense  
TT: I'm sorry, I wasn't aware I was anything aside from perspicacious. How did you want me to help you in this matter?  
TT: Shall I begin constructing a card for Valentine's Day?

The aura of superiority is obvious even through the violet text on your screen. For fuck's sake, Rose. Still, you're struggling for ideas. What could she possibly help you with? Only you can work out your own feelings, and you fully understand this. You become quickly aware of the crushing loneliness of the situation you are currently deeply entrenched within.

TG: i just wanted to talk

The next few hours seem to pass by in a purple-reddish haze of ironic put-downs and extended metaphors. A return to normality, a small comfort in this sea of new thought processes. You feel like you could just chat like this for hours - and so you have been, but you decide to draw the conversation to a close, having been fully satisfied by the experience. It's been enlightening, to say the least. Time to say your goodbyes.

TT: If you want my input on the matter, I suggest that you confront him about your feelings.  
TG: dont worry i have the situation on lockdown  
TG: everything is under control

\-- turntechGodhead  [TG] ceased pestering tentacleTherapist  [TT] at 15:14 --

So far, all things considered, it's been a good day, and you can't see that stopping. You can see your day unfold before you - you'll go grab a quick snack, relax for a while, then ask John over. Everything will go according to plan. You consider what food there is left in the house, and walk instinctively over to the kitchen, when something stops you in your tracks.

A knock at the door. It quickly occurs to you that you didn't plan far enough ahead, as all of your confidence and optimism immediately drains away.

Fuck it, you're going over to the door to answer. At this point... you really don't have much choice.


	4. Once In A Lifetime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I may need to get back up to my usual standard.

You know who's at the door before you even open it. Not like it was going to be a difficult guess by any stretch of the imagination; your visitors tend to be more limited than you'd prefer. Then again, it can be helpful in this sort of situation, to know what you're going to get before you get it. And what are you getting? John Egbert, the cutest nerd you know, that's exactly what you're getting, and you can envision the scene playing out in your head. You're sitting together on the bed, and you shuffle around nervously, and John asks what's wrong, and god damn, it's going to be a complete fucking mess.

Another knock. How long have you been standing here thinking? At some point or another, this door is gonna open, and you'll be damned if you're gonna delay any more on this issue. At long last, you open up your door, and there he is - and the next split second seems to move by in an eternity. Yup, that's definitely John. No surprises there. Your look over him, and take in all the details of his appearance. His face is an impossibly bright, almost luminescent shade of red, and he's looking off to a point somewhere over your shoulder. Moving down, you see that he's carrying a huge fucking bouquet of roses, a crimson even darker than his face.

Of course, you don't notice anything further than that because you can't move, and even then, you can only just think. Though paralyzed by shock, thoughts continue running through your mind, because you're desperately searching for what to say, but the information simply isn't there - this was not something you were prepared for. You... you have absolutely no idea what you're going to do, at all. On one hand, this makes your confession a whole lot easier. On the other, of course, the pressure's really on now. Shit, you should probably start listening to what John's saying. He kept this secret pretty well, the least you can do is pay attention to him while he tears your brain to pieces without even knowing it.

It suddenly occurs to you that he looks a lot tidier than his usual self. He's saying something about how he's known, for a few months now, or something, about how you were "the one", whatever he means by that. You won't be. You're not ready for this, at all. Finally, with one last thought, you just give up on thinking anything, because dammit, you really can't take it any more. Something about staying awake at night, something about not being able to cope with the pressure of it all, disconnected phrases of a speech no one may ever hear again. You become faintly aware that he's calling your name. Why is he calling your name?

"Dave? Dave? Hello?" He waves his hand in front of your face, and you snap back to reality, far faster than you would have preferred. Let's see how things go from here, you think to yourself, still inexpressibly unsure, but managing to keep an expression resembling what you're hoping is some sort of confident smirk and not a manic grin.

"Come inside, sit down. You probably need it, I sure the hell do."

In the next few moments, he's sitting down on the side of your bed, and you've all but collapsed backwards onto it, still trying to piece together your next coherent sentence. Everything seems unnatural, unreal. You grip John's hand tightly, for some sort of support, and soon you've been lifted back up to the same level as him. You look down towards the floor of your room before managing to mutter a "yes" in what you're hoping is in his general direction. You manage to look back up at him, and to your surprise, he's looking more relieved, than joyful, or anything you imagined. "So what do we do now? We better not kiss, that's stepping over the fucking line." Almost instantaneously, John's face seems to light up again, and... he's opening his arms wide, and you feel that urge again, the urge to scream "are you fucking kidding me", but you instead simply let out a small chuckle. You know what's coming.

"We're doing it, man." He's got you now, and he knows it. He's waiting for the response, and he doesn't have to wait for long. 

"We're making this happen."

You can't quite tell how long the embrace goes on for, perhaps a couple of minutes? Not that you mind right now.


	5. Scumbag Strider

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for not updating this in a hell of a long time! I have a lot of free time over the next few weeks, let's try and make some progress on this, shall we?

You wake up the following morning, just like any other morning. Rise and shine, time to get up from your little haven you call the bed, get dressed, and leave your bedroom. You make your own breakfast like any other breakfast you’ve made before, eat it in the expected manner, and you’re just about to flop down on your bed once more when a vibration from your pocket catches your attention. 

Oh right. You have a boyfriend now. So there’s that. 

How difficult is this “romance” thing? What even is romance? How does it work? Your mind continues to spin with questions that no one is answering for you. Is it just one of those things that no one is ever meant to explain? Maybe it’s a “supernatural force”. Yeah, sure, let’s go with that. Still, you think you’re managing pretty well so far? John certainly seems to be smitten, somehow. How? You come to the conclusion that life makes no sense. Why is the sun shining so brightly today? Why is everything so cheerful? There’s not a cloud in the sky, apart from cloud fucking nine, which you’re positively commandeering at the moment, riding on it like a jockey riding a goddamn horse… 

There’s another vibration. You briefly stop to wonder why phones exist, as you withdraw your own from the pocket of your jeans. 

\-- ectoBiologist  [EB] began pestering turntechGodhead  [TG] at 10:21 --

EB: hey dave!  
EB: dave?  
TG: present  
TG: hows my new favorite person in the world doing  
EB: wasn’t i your favorite before, dave?   
EB: oh no, dave, you’ve made me sad.   
EB: i’m crying right now. really.   
TG: you know as well as i do that i couldnt have said that before   
TG: good morning dave whos your favorite person in the world   
TG: immediately i respond that its none other than my very own eggbro standing before me   
TG: thatd make everything more awkward and tense than a fucking abseiling rope or something   
TG: and its all getting in your way and making everything far too stressful   
EB: yeah, i guess, haha.  
TG: i wonder who your favorite person in the world really is  
EB: we both know the answer to that, dave!  
EB: in my dream. you are the star.  
EB: it's you.   
TG: and definitely not mcconaghue or whatever his name is  
EB: mcconaughey?   
TG: i knew it was him why would you lie to me like this john

It suddenly occurs to you that this new "technology" thing makes everything a lot more difficult. What happened to the good old days, when people had relationships through letters in the mail instead of over Pesterchum? You decide to utilize this weakness and turn it into your strength - by which you mean, close off the conversation so you don't have worry about messing things up. Wonderful. Another great idea. You've thought it before and you're thinking it again, _Dave Strider, you are fuckin' incredible. Genius beyond comprehension._

TG: but anyway ive gotta go now   
TG: got shit to be doing pretty soon  
EB: oh, alright. what sort of stuff are you doing?   
TG: shopping  
EB: okay.  
EB: catch you later!   
EB: <3   
TG: <3   


\-- ectoBiologist  [EB] ceased pestering turntechGodhead  [TG] at 10:34 --

Hmm. Maybe the bed isn't the best place for you. You're too awake for that now. You resign yourself to the couch. Maybe it's best to just... sit and think for the time being? _No,_ that's not what's best to do. Thinking isn't a good idea at this point, there are still too many thoughts. You need television. Killing a few of your brain cells off seems like a good plan for the time being. Time to begin a good session of absentmindedly channel-hopping, you think to yourself. For around fifteen minutes, you sit pretty comfortably, just watching a flickering image on a screen, until you hear a noise from somewhere other than your TV set. 

A knock on the door. A door opening. An uncomfortably familiar voice.

"Dave? I didn't know if you'd left yet, so I was wondering if I could come along--"

_Ah,_ says a small portion of your brain. _This should be interesting._


	6. One Hell Of A Trip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't get any more chapters done in my free time, admittedly, but in exchange, here's the longest chapter I've written yet!

Alright, so what exactly was it were you planning on doing if this situation happened to occur? You cast your mind back to what seems like an eternity ago, before you ever contemplated placing yourself down on your comfy little couch. What course of action were you going to take if John just so happened to turn up at your door, excited about your shopping? After a moment of frantic thinking, you remember you had no plans. Still, it's not like you can't bullshit your way out of trouble to save your life - time to quickly think of something, John's coming in, shit, shit, shit.

_"I'm done with my shopping, John, it's so much faster these days on the internet--"_

_"Oh yes, John, I can find great deals on jewels on the television, they have a great deal going on if you want a tanzanite ring, it would match your eyes--"_

_"I'm sorry, John, I lied to you, I'm not shopping at all, just being a lazy tired asshole who doesn't want to do anything--"_

Yeah, like any of that was ever going to happen. Time to shop, you guess.

The walk over to the shop isn't too bad; you exchange a few words with each other, you've been alright recently, he's been alright recently, everything's just fine and dandy. Well, you're "alright", he's "unable to stop thinking about you, Dave, I can't get you out of my head," and damn, it's nice and all, what he's saying, but does he need to? He's making an effort, but you can't help wondering if it's just a facade to make you feel loved. Like, "only guy in the world" loved. Apparently, someone's been doing their research, and it shows, and what's he doing now, he's saying words and... they're rhyming, and they're vaguely to a rhythm, it's poetry, oh God, that's just the most terrible, horrible, nerdy, adorable-- you're smiling. It happened. Never would have expected it. But he's happy, you're happy, and things are going pretty well right now.

"So what were you going to buy anyway?"

"I don't know, I was just going to mindlessly waste money on things I'll never need until I get bored."

"You mean, like, tons of apple juice?"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean? I always need tons of apple juice, how else will I live? When one takes my beloved AJ from me, they are draining me of my very life force, the thing which keeps me chained to this earthly realm! Why, one might even say that you could never have enough of it - for it is my one true sustenance, my daily bread, a true staple of the Strider diet plan."

"I'm not one hundred percent certain, but I think that's a yes."

"No shit, Sherlock."

"Fuck you, Watson."

Hey, look, the time just flies by when you get distracted and go off on a tangent about drinks, you're at the shop already! True to your word, you immediately head off and buy the nearest container of juice you can find, before looking around for what could only be described as  _more things_ , whatever would be worth buying to make you look like less of an asshole, letting your boyfriend waste his time with you only buying one item - but no, it's John who's to be taking the lead now, dragging you right along with him. You mutter something under your breath about how this is the last way you imagined walking down the aisle with him, but he seems to have barely heard you, he's picking out all sorts of things from the shelves. You suppose you could always pay for everything yourself - it'd make you look generous, at least.

And now... he's pointing at some fruit and waggling his eyebrows seductively - and it's at this point you just facepalm and shake your head at him.  _John, for fuck's sake._

By the time you're done with it all, you're carrying what seems like a huge amount of stuff even between the two of you, although your load is considerably lessened owing to your sudden lack of money. You make your way back to your home, with much less conversation being shared between the two of you, and most of the words uttered being a variety of four-letter profanities, because this is a hell of a lot to haul along with you. Eventually, you're home, placing your share of the newly-acquired loot down on the floor in the doorway, and wishing John well. It's been a fun day, you have to admit. You had your doubts, but it paid off in the end.  _Nailed it!_

"Alright, see you soon, Dave!"

With that, he picks up his shopping, gives you a quick peck on the cheek, and makes his way home.

_...What? No, that doesn't seem right._

What was that second thing he just did? He didn't just do that, did he?

You are suddenly overwhelmed by what seems like every emotion.

 


	7. Contact

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this is turning out to be a lot of fun, heh. This is me, doing, um... is this "trying something different"? Anyway, this chapter is largely pesterlogs, so that's different? Thanks for reading!

\-- turntechGodhead  [TG] began pestering ectoBiologist  [EB] at 15:19 --

TG: okay i know youre not here right now but i have so many bones to pick with you  
TG: im not normally one for paleontology but right now i am a god damn expert in the field  
TG: youre my assistant and were going to be extracting these newly discovered fossils together  
TG: just you and me john can you feel the romance blossoming in the air already  
TG: you must be feeling so lucky to have a boyfriend who takes you on a journey through time just for a date  
TG: but thats not the point here my point is what the hell man  
TG: i told you about my stance on kissing when we started this shit and i said its not happening yet  
TG: my stance is leaning back slightly and preparing to nope the fuck out of there  
TG: what the hell were you thinking man i dont get it  
TG: you didnt even ask if you could do it just went forward into the land of striders and smooching like it was nothing  
TG: next time make sure im comfortable with stuff alright  
TG: romance isnt like  
TG: well  
TG: you just dont pull that kind of shit  
TG: talk to you later man

\-- turntechGodhead  [TG] ceased pestering ectoBiologist  [EB] at 15:25 --

\-- ectoBiologist  [EB] began pestering turntechGodhead  [TG] at 15:40 --

EB: dave?  
EB: oh, the kiss? i didn't realize, i'm sorry!  
EB: besides, *we* didn't even kiss, all i did was kiss you!  
TG: thats actually the worst thing ive ever heard  
EB: oh my god.  
EB: okay, i admit i was in the wrong. but... wasn't it romantic?  
EB: it was just meant to be this cute little gesture for you to appreciate, i was trying to show that i care!  
EB: hello?  
TG: still here just confused  
TG: as far as i can see we both failed step one of relationships  
TG: like is there something i should be doing for you  
TG: no hold on dont you dare dont even THINK about it  
EB: i apologize, alright? i didn't mean to be putting pressure on you or whatever i was doing, it was stupid of me.  
EB: just... can't we be doing some more romantic things?  
TG: oh sure we could be doing lots of lovey-dovey things  
TG: thats a thought why dont we just go for a candlelit dinner at the restaurant in town  
EB: that sounds like a pretty good idea.  
TG: no it doesnt dinner dates are just terrible  
TG: like what do i even wear  
EB: if you're going to be going on a romantic candlelit dinner you need to be wearing something formal. like a suit?  
TG: do you have any idea how difficult it is to wear a suit and not look like a complete tool  
EB: i have faith in you to not look like a complete tool, dave.  
TG: what a great comfort  
TG: so wait this is actually happening now right  
EB: yes!  
EB: i mean, unless you'd rather not do it.  
TG: no it sounds like a good plan  
EB: so tomorrow at seven?  
TG: it just has to be seven its always fucking seven  
TG: i swore to myself i wouldnt let myself get caught in a complete cliché of a romance yet here i am having a candlelit dinner with you at seven o clock tomorrow  
TG: tomorrow at 7:15  
EB: alright.  
TG: well i guess thats all  
TG: so see you tomorrow  
EB: dave, i have to ask.  
EB: you're not mad at me for what happened today, are you?  
TG: maybe just a bit  
EB: oh. well. :\  
TG: dont get me wrong its not too much  
TG: mostly it was good  
EB: well, in any case, i'll see you tomorrow!  
TG: okay

\-- ectoBiologist  [EB] ceased pestering turntechGodhead  [TG] at 15:56 --

You return to the television, trying to not think about the past five and a half hours and their various negative points. Was there any need for you to get so panicky? It was just a kiss, after all. John's nice, he didn't mean to cause any trouble, you know that, but still... No. You don't want to have to deal with this right now. You just need to relax. Video games? There's a plan. You set up the Xbox and pick up a controller, letting your skateboarding video game load up. This particular game just so happens to be one of your favorites - you play it a hell of a lot, even when John's here, because you can still play it on two-player mode, and...

An exasperated voice from somewhere in your mind calls out to you - _how were you planning on making it through the next twenty seven hours again, could you please remind me?_


	8. A Completely Ordinary Dinner Date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the highly anticipated restaurant date between Dave and John you've probably been waiting for!... Probably for far too long, whoops. I'll try and update this more frequently in future!

It’s precisely 7:10pm – you’re standing outside the second-cheapest restaurant in town, waiting for your boyfriend to turn up, and you can’t wait to look like an ass. Not that you aren’t already, loitering outside the place with your default stoic expression, wearing the usual jeans with the same old shirt as always, but apparently your chosen time was too specific for a reservation. Looks like you’re going to have to stall for fifteen minutes with the good old fashioned art of conversation… wait, you think you can see him in the distance already, crap. Twenty minutes of the good old fashioned art of conversation. Here he comes now… _play it cool, Strider, you can handle this._

“Hey!"

“Hey.”

In the following ten seconds of silence, you resolutely stare at a space some distance to the left of John Egbert’s face. Yes, it’s all going just as you planned it.

“How’s it going?”

“Fine,” you reply a little too loudly, “yup, it’s all good. Fine like a fine god damn line, drawn in pencil, by a legendary artist centuries ago…” _Way to just trail off like an idiot there_ , you think to yourself. _There’s a fine line alright, you’re crossing it pulling your usual metaphor bullshit in a romantic situation._ Damn it, you should have brought along flowers. You make a valiant attempt to drag things back on track. “Speaking of painfully long periods of time, turns out the restaurant didn’t have a space free at the time I said. Gonna have to wait another quarter of an hour.”

“Don’t worry about it! It’s alright, trust me.” He’s smiling at you… sympathetically? Yeah, that’s definitely pity in his face right there, and you feel like a piece of shit for not telling him beforehand. Can’t even book a table at a restaurant right. Whatever, if it’s alright, it’s alright, that’s good enough for now. It’s time to take the reins of this date, and make the authoritative decision to let John say the next thing. He’s… he’s not going to say anything, is he? He’s just going to keep looking up at the sky, looking at those stars. Guess he can't be blamed - the sky’s pretty damn clear, and it’s looking like a decent night tonight. The dude knows beauty when he sees it, who'd have guessed?

By the time half past seven rolls around and you’re sitting yourself down at a table, you’re almost feeling relaxed. John seems to be happy, it’s all good, and you’re putting together a successful evening. You’re managing to actually look at him now, actually managing to keep the conversation going, responding with a few words of agreement for each topic he brings up until finally, your two dinners arrive at the table. God, you can’t even concentrate on your food, you don’t even know if you’re hungry, you’re poking around at the meal, you look up, and fuck, he’s finished already. Your boyfriend has nearly cleaned his plate, and you have not eaten, this is not good.

“Are you okay?”

“Totally. Yup.”

“You don’t look okay.”

The first thing you notice is that you’re shaking like crazy. You curse under your breath, just remind yourself to calm the fuck down, don’t make things awkward, be cool. How’s it going to be the perfect evening for you two if you can’t control yourself? As if you didn’t already ruin it enough, for Christ’s sake, what are you going to do? What can you do? Your circular train of thought is interrupted by John putting his hand over yours from across the table, you can barely even think any more, just try to register what you’re being asked… he wants to take off your shades. Of course, as if it would somehow help strengthen the connection between the two of you. Had to happen sometime. You hear yourself telling him to go the fuck ahead, whatever.

You’re blinded by light and… no, no way, those can’t be tears, you definitely cannot be crying in front of John, not fucking weeping at a dinner table on a date, just because everything isn’t going exactly as you imagined and John isn’t as cheerful as you’d hoped, because you’ve been trying to make everything perfect, because you’ve tried too hard. You hear a distant remark about how your eyes look crimson, and it’s not even just your irises by this point, the rest of your eyes and most of your face reddened by the restaurant lighting and the tears that continue flowing, you can barely breathe, you fucked this one up _bad_. You try to mutter something like “wanted to make you happy”, don’t notice whether you succeed, and go back to sobbing over the dinner you ordered, John going around to you and holding you in his arms, looking right into your eyes, looking at you the same way he looked at those stars.

It seems like half the restaurant is watching you. Not like you fucking care about that.


	9. Those Three Words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Dave struggles to think of how to blow John away. Coding is still horrible, Dave is still panicky, Rose is still an amazing character to write.

Oh hey, you’re still alive. Pretty cool.

You guess, anyway. Dinner was pretty clearly an unmitigated disaster, it was unequivocally and categorically god damn terrible, you’re not gonna lie, but hey. Just a small slip up, and now you can get back to doing what you do best. Being John’s boyfriend is so god damn easy, right? No trouble, no preparation needed. Then again, perhaps you should think this all through. Perhaps confidence is the key? If you can blow John away with how smooth you are, it could be an outstanding recovery. Nailing the landing, perfect tens all around for the blond kid with all the skills, and you’re paying the bills too, with your hard earned prize money. Yes. Hell yes. Hell fucking yes.

Poetry. You could probably do that. You’ve written rap lyrics before, how different could making a romantic poem be? Doesn’t even need to go with music. You could probably take some lyrics from any old song and throw them onto a piece of paper. Romance isn’t difficult, it’s easy, and you’ve got it nailed. It is, however, going to be clichéd as all hell if you continue at this rate. The double-edged sword of love has stabbed you through the god damn chest. Clichés are good and all, but they’re so overused – probably because that’s what clichés are by fucking definition. You aren’t going to let yourself fall into the trap of doing something shitty and unoriginal for John. Then again... Flowers. The moon. John is totally taken aback by these stunning revelations, your classic Strider charm. “Oh, Dave...” he whispers through barely open lips, his breath taken away as you hold him in your arms.

Is this happening? Is this really happening? You remind yourself that it isn’t gonna be a thing that happens. Or maybe it could? All bets are off, you don’t know what the fuck you’re going to do... You don’t know what the fuck you’re going to do. There are so many possibilities to consider... If only you had someone who could tell you what the best thing to do would be.

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] at 13:13 --

TG: rose this cool shit i found on the internet may be relevant to your interests  
TT: Hm?  
TG: http://tinyurl.com/eldritch-pornography  
TT: ...Well played.  
TT: Is there some sort of problem you’d like me to fix? Are you looking to me for guidance?  
TT: I can’t keep giving you answers to every question you have about relationships.  
TG: i just want to know how to make john fall head over heels for me  
TT: Have you tried pushing him down a flight of stairs?

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] at 13:16 --

\-- tentacleTherapist [TT] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 13:16 --

TT: I warned you about stairs, bro.  
TG: oh you fucking

\-- tentacleTherapist [TT] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 13:17 --

Okay, you have to admit, that was pretty damn good, even if you’re still clueless as to your next move. But it has given you some inspiration. You’ve got to stop being a useless piece of shit all day, playing all these games, and make a move. Even if you don’t know what that move is. But not everything has to be planned out, right? You’re feeling more than enough affection for John to be able to make some beautiful shit up on the spot, you’re fairly damn sure. He needs to hear some meaningful words, from the heart, that’s what this situation needs. Action.

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering ectoBiologist [EB] at 13:25 --

Shit. This was a bad move.

TG: hi john

Dammit. Stop. Bail out while you still can. Stop typing.

EB: oh hi dave!  
TG: i love you

Well, fuck. That's one way of doing things.

TG: be right back decapitating myself  
EB: wait!  
EB: i love you too, dave.  
EB: are you okay?  
TG: im good i just need to go and lay down and not do anything  
TG: bye

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering ectoBiologist [EB] at 13:27 --

You can feel your heart beating. Even if you figuratively lost your head over things for a moment there, you’re still more alive than you’ve ever been.


End file.
